Page 33 of Thirst

Keeping my hand tightly in his grip, Amari turns to his right and begins leading me down the short hall. I look at a few of the old photos of Philly as we pass them, but then my breath is taken away when the hallway opens up to the living room. It’s open concept, with no walls separating it from the huge dining room and the beautiful kitchen, but the living room itself is magnificent. Black couches sit adjacent to each other, with a black and gray coffee table in the center and two end tables that match. The TV in the room is at least eighty inches and mounted above a gorgeous electric fireplace with a blue flame. The entire back wall is made of floor-to-ceiling glass, providing a stunning view of the city with Lincoln Financial Field in the background. The extraordinarily thick drapes are pitch black and pulled open to make sure the city is on full display.

“This is beautiful,” I say, looking around like I'm in a museum of fine art. My eyes bounce from the city view to the gold chandelier hanging above the gray and black dining room table. It looks like it cost a fortune.

“Thank you,” he says. “I have it redecorated every year, so this look is about halfway through its life, but if you like it maybe I’ll keep it.”

“I love it,” I say, still looking around. “Do you actually live up here, or do you have a house somewhere?”

“I have a house that I own out in Delaware, but I’m almost never there. This is home. I've lived here a long time, and can’t see myself leaving any time soon.”

“Can't say I blame you. Plus, you work in the building. It’s the perfect setup.”

“No doubt.”

“And what is that smell? It has my stomach rumbling.”

Amari grins as he finally lets go of my hand and walks toward the bar separating the living room from the kitchen. On the granite bartop are two plates, both of them covered with food—filet mignon, baked potato, brussel sprouts, and french fries next to empty wine glasses.

“I had one of the chefs cook our dinner tonight,” he explains, showing off the food like a talk show host. “He just finished right before you came up, so everything is still hot. That’s why I had Shawn get you at a specific time. I needed all of the timing to work out.”

My cheeks flush. “Wow. That’s so sweet. It looks amazing.”

“I wish I could take credit for it, but this is all DeShaun from one of the five star restaurants downstairs. My contribution is gonna be bringing it to the table and pouring the wine. I would ruin anything else. Let’s get you seated.”

Again, Amari reaches for my hand, interlocks his fingers with mine, and guides me over to the dining room. I'm surprised at how much he's touching me, but I don't ask him to stop because I like it. Every touch puts a little smirk on my face, and I let him take the lead. I fear I may have given too much to little boys who never knew how to treat a woman—boys who were so lame that it forced me to be harder, leading and protecting myself because they were unworthy and incapable of the role. But Amari seems different. He is clearly a man.

“Before we start, should we exchange this paperwork and get it out the way?” he says, to which I nod and reach into my purse. I hand him the document I got from the hospital after getting my bloodwork done, and he does the same. I don't really know what I'm looking at, but it’s clear that we’re both healthy and ready for whatever’s coming. Amari places the papers on the bartop before grabbing the plates and bringing them over. He pours both of us a glass of red wine and sets them down, then pulls out my chair for me to sit.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to ignore the flutter in my heart. “All of this is unreal. The penthouse, the food, your chivalry. I'm taken aback, I can't even lie.”

He smiles wide, pride beaming from his eyes. “I'm glad. I wanted you to be both impressed and comfortable. Each of us is stepping into new territory tonight. It’ll be a little scary for us both, so I thought we needed as much comfort as possible.”

Still grinning, Amari picks up a remote from the table and presses a button. Soft music comes from speakers that I don't even see, and my brow furrows.

“Is that Blackstreet?” I ask, nodding along. “I haven't heard them in years. All of this, and you have good taste in music? You're trying to get me to want to marry you, huh?”

He chuckles. “Well, it’s a little early for that, but … you know … it’s a vibe.”

“It’s definitely a vibe. Oh my god, this steak is a vibe. It looks incredible.”

“Then dig in,” he says, his smile dripping with self-confidence and satisfaction. “I don't want it to get cold.”

With excitement bubbling in my chest and hunger rumbling my stomach, I grab the perfectly polished silverware and cut the steak open. The cook on it is an immaculate medium rare, and my mouth waters just from looking at it. The taste somehow outdoes the display, and I shake my head as I swallow it down.

“Wow,” I exclaim. “This might be the best steak I've ever had.”

Amari picks up his wine glass and takes a sip. “Good. I wanted it to be memorable. I'm glad DeShaun delivered.” Watching as I continue eating, he picks up a small fry and pops into his mouth.

I take a few minutes to enjoy my food, marveling at how perfectly seasoned everything is, before deciding that now is the perfect time to learn more about Amari. After hearing everything Shawn had to say on the way over, I'm even more eager to gain information about Amari. Who is this man who saves people’s lives and then gives them employment? What more is there to know about the thirty-year-old businessman who has already drank down gallons of success while most people barely get a sip?

“So,” I say before pausing to gulp more wine. “What more is there to know about you? You've been very forthcoming, which is a huge breath of fresh air, but I'm still curious.”

He smirks and nods slowly. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop, huh?”

A groove quickly forms in my brow. “Uhh, yeah actually. I literally said that to Shawn in the car earlier. I swear, sometimes it’s like you're in my head.”

Amari licks his lips, then takes his time sipping from his wine glass. “Well, I've told you most of my story already. You know about my parents—”

“How did they die?” I blurt out before I can catch myself. “Oh, I'm so sorry. That was rude. I think the wine is already starting to take over my mouth.”